Page 64 of Que Será, Syrah

“Well, I’m here,” I say as I gesture at the tables. “What do you think?”

My sisters look puzzled. “Are we…throwing a party?” Bee asks hesitantly.

“No, it’s our new picnic area.”

“Um…did we need a new picnic area?” Rosa asks, while Bee whispers sotto voce, “I didn’t know we had an old one?”

“Yes,” I remind Rosa. “We do if we want food trucks,“

“But…do we want food trucks?” Bianca asks, looking even more confused. “I mean…why?”

“Because! I’m trying to create buzz, that’s why. I’m trying to get people interested in what we’re doing here, so they’ll be excited for our opening. So, that they’ll buy lots of wine and we can hit the ground running.”

Bee nods. “Okay. That makes sense. But if we don’t have any foot traffic, what’s going to bring in the food trucks?”

I groan internally. I should have figured she’d immediately pick out the weak spot in my plan. I could have saved myself several hours this morning, if I’d talked to her first. Not that anyone ever has time to listen. “I have ideas,” I say, hoping I sound half as confident and mysterious as she did last night. “I’m working on it. But you still haven’t said—how does it look?”

“It looks great,” Rosa replies, a little too quickly. “I just wonder if we need all four tables? It seems a bit…”

“Crowded?” Bianca finishes for her. “Although, that’s probably because of all the paint colors. I think it would look better if they were all painted the same.”

“One of the darker colors,” Rosa agrees. “Because, otherwise, once we start serving wine, they’ll be stained in no time. And that’ll look?—”

“Blah,” Bee supplies. “And dingy.”

“Mm.”

My lips roll in as I try to keep from screaming. Only one of the colors I’ve chosen is actually dark, and the burgundy shade clashes with the brick. Also, the point of using multiple colors was to disguise the fact that the tables are not all the same size or height, or in the same condition. Mission accomplished there, I guess.

“A dark green would look nice,” Bianca offers. “Or maybe a redwood stain?”

Stain? Seriously? Is my sister suggesting I strip the paint off all four tables, sand them all down and then stain them? “What do either of those have to do with wine?” I ask.

My sisters exchange a look. “What does what have to do with wine?” Rosa asks. “Are you talking about the paint?”

“Yes! I can’t believe you didn’t see it,” I say as I point to each table in succession. “Sauvignon Blanc, Chardonnay, Cabernet, Rosé. Did you really not get that?”

Two identically confused expression meet my gaze. “Nope, sorry.” “Didn’t get it,” my sisters say.

Yeah, we are so not in sync, I think to myself. “Okay, never mind. So why were you looking for me anyway?”

“Oh! Right!” Bianca says, looking suddenly much more animated. She gestures at the closest table and asks, “Is this dry?”

“Dry enough, I guess,” I respond with a shrug. What does it even matter? I’m going to be repainting it, anyway. Or staining the damn thing. Or—I dunno—maybe I’ll just chop them up for firewood. So, they can be used for a funeral pyre after I die of annoyance.

I make a mental note to check the county calendar for a list of Burn Ban dates—because the last thing I need is to get tangled up in any more red tape.

“Bianca has something she wants to share with us,” Rosa explains.

“Okay. So, this is just an experiment,” Bee cautions, taking three small tasting cups from the satchel she’s carrying, and then a flip-top bottle half-filled with a murky yellow liquid. “And it’s super, super premature. So don’t expect it to taste like much right now. It’s only been fermenting for a handful of weeks.”

“Got it,” I say, watching as she carefully fills three glasses with something hazy and sparkling. “It’s embryonic wine.”

“Proto-wine,” Rosa agrees, flashing me a grin.

Bianca rolls her eyes. “So, I got to thinking about what you said, Legs, about Nonna and her pét-nat, and— No, this isn’t that!” she hurriedly explains, when I start to get excited. “But I’ve been playing around with this field blend and…I don’t know.” She hands out the glasses and shrugs. “I think there are some possibilities here. See what you think.”

Rosa and I sniff cautiously, smelling grape juice and yeast, wincing as the carbon dioxide hits our noses. It’s harsh and overly sweet, bubbly with a hint of funk. But beneath it all…there is something. Something promising—I think Bee’s right about that. Something exciting. Something…familiar.

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